


Tech Noir

by dualaqua



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Bodily Harm, Choking, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Smut, Torture, Trauma, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28163844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dualaqua/pseuds/dualaqua
Summary: You've spent your entire life behind a computer screen, alone. No friends, no family, no connections. But when gruesome murders start popping up around your hometown, the Ghostface killer may be the only person you can't push away.At least you've finally meet someone as disconnected as you are.
Relationships: Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face/Reader, Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face/You
Comments: 34
Kudos: 176





	1. No Life

**Author's Note:**

> The Dead By Baelight discord server I'm in are big fans of Ghostface x Reader, so I decided to try and write one. As always my tumblr is bloodhexx, and I hope you like the fic!

It was another slow day at the café. You pull your phone out of your pocket and unlock it, staring at your inbox.

_ '0 messages.' _

You sigh, figuring your mother would've bothered to text you back by now. It would have given you something to actually do this early in the morning.

The morning regulars had already filed in, most with a coffee at their side as they did their business on the computers. You put your phone away, and begin tidying up behind the front counter. Just as you finish wiping it down, a new customer approaches with a friend. "Is this an actual internet café?" He asks in disbelief, looking around as he speaks.

You repress a sigh at the question you hear ten times a week. "Yeah, it is. I know, it's basically one of the few that are left in the states right now. Roseville just couldn't part with the 90's I guess."

"That's awesome though," he turns to his side to speak with his friend. "Do you want anything?" The friend shakes his head no.

"You have to buy something to get the wifi password, unless you use one of our own computers- in which case there's a charge of three dollars an hour for usage," you interject robotically, having yet again repeated it multiple times a week. The man nods and orders a small black coffee, and shuffles away with friend in tow to one of the few open spots left. 

You allow yourself to sigh now, relaxing behind the counter by putting your chin in your hands, letting your hair fall as curtains on either side of your face.

You suppose today had been a little bit different.

Martin was playing League of Legends instead of World of Warcraft. A new hero had just been released. He was talking fast into his headset, and seemed to be getting angry. You watch as his team loses the match.

Next to him, Shelly did her usual by checking her email, but instead of going right to facebook as she usually did, she seemed to be in the process of making an account on a dating site. You remember her talking about her break up just a month ago as she ordered her usual latte. You felt a twinge of happiness for her and that she decided to try the dating scene again. 

Danny had switched up his normal order of a black coffee to a sweetened one, and seemed to be browsing a news site on his laptop- which was expected of him, since he was a journalist who only came to the café in his off time before work.

Amy was at the only VR headset station, chatting away into her mic as she played her VRchat game with her friends. You knew she would be there for quite a few hours since her computer broke down last week, and she was waiting on parts to come in the mail to make a new one. You had a long conversation with her just the other day on how building her own is better than a pre-built, and wrote down a list of parts she may be interested in.

You often felt like a creep watching what everyone was doing, but your boss insisted on it, due to oddballs in the past who use the cafés internet for pornography. Otherwise, the café prided itself on it's geeks, gamers and hackers- even allowing weekly Magic The Gathering sessions in the afternoons when you didn't work. The place never changes, which is why your days drag on, watching over what everyone else does. You could only hope the eight hour shift passed by quickly so you could get home and play games yourself- after all, your computer knowledge is what landed you the job.

You watch more carefully over Martin's shoulder now, the new League character was interesting to you. Maybe enough to pick the game back up after months of not touching it. But you were on an Overwatch streak at the moment, and keeping up your rank as a grandmaster felt as necessary as breathing.

You glance up at the TV in the corner- it appeared to be left on the news station from last night's closing shift. The words 'Ghostface' flash across the screen, and you walk across the room to stand in front of the flat screen, turning it up.

_ "Another murder in Roseville was reported late last night. The body Sam Elliott was found in his apartment, with his throat slit and body bound. Officials say there appeared to be no sign of a break in, but will not give further details on the case, or if this is a confirmed Ghostface kill. They also ask that viewers at home be wary on who you let into your home, and to always lock your doors. _

_ Tomorrow marks three months since these murders started in Roseville, crossing over gender, age, and racial lines, with a kill count of over fourteen people now. Locals demand the police work harder to lock this 'Ghostface' killer up. When asked for a comment, sheriff Dustin Hill denied any Ghostface involvement, saying to leave the work to the police. _

_ But locals still remember the leaked tape from online that gave this killer his name, with a ghoulish white mask and black ensemble. Thousands of people online are theorizing who is behind the mask, and where he will strike next. _

_ Up next, how to protect yourself from a home invasion or attack, and… _ "

The news lady drones on, and you turn the TV back down, walking back to behind the counter. You hadn't been paying as much attention to this as the rest of the locals, but now more than ever it demanded your attention. The name of the most recent victim even sounded familiar. If only you could place it…

"Hey! Hello?"

You're snapped out of thought and look up to see a customer standing in front of you, waving his hand in your face. You realize it's Danny. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just- I got lost in thought. What can I help you with?"

He smiles, and you notice it doesn't quite reach his eyes. It never did with him. "It's cool. I was wondering if I could have a refill?" He pushes his cup towards you as he speaks. "Just back to the usual black."

"Of course." You take his cup and refill it, turning back around to hand it to him, but he's no longer looking at you. His attention is solely on the TV in the corner now, the news station still running the story about the recent Ghostface murder. An odd look crosses his face before quickly disappearing to a look of concern.

You set the coffee down in front of him, and his attention snaps back to you. "Oh- thanks. Sorry, I guess I'm the one spacing out now." He lightly chuckles.

"It's understandable to get wrapped up in the case. They said earlier this is his fourteenth kill, can you believe that?"

He nods, a solemn expression crossing his face. "I can. I've been up to date with each kill for the articles I've been writing for the gazette- they actually appointmented me to the position to write all of the Ghostface articles from now on."

"Well, he's sure giving you a lot to work with," you mutter as he walks back to his laptop, your attention once again going back to the TV.

-

The rest of the day was just as boring as it started. People came and went, coffees were made and drank, and the entire time you were itching to be able to get back home and play video games. After handing over the keys to Heidi, the afternoon shift, you check over each item in your bag to make sure nothing was missing. After your keys were lost about a month ago, you became very vigilant about this process. So much so Heidi took notice.

"Chill girl, you have everything. No one's sneakin' back here to take your shit."

You snort.

"I  _ know,  _ no one is 'sneakin back here to take my shit'" you add with air quotes, "I'm just good at losing things."

"Mm. And you're going home to play games, then?"

You shift uncomfortably. Heidi had been trying to set you up with her guy friends recently, and each one had been worse than the last. 

You purse your lips. "Maybe."

"Maybe my ass. You've gotta do more with your life than play games girl. There's more out there than what's behind your computer screen."

"But I  _ like _ what's behind my computer screen. I just… I don't see the need to go out and drink or party or whatever else you do with your free time."

She huffs. "Fine then. Go play your games."

"Thanks Heidi," you smile, and with a wave you're out the door.

It was a short walk back to your studio apartment. While you had the ability to drive, you didn't bother wasting the gas when it was only a few blocks to work and back. More money saved was more money you could put towards your gaming addiction, or take-out. You go through unlocking both the deadbolt and the doorknob- a precaution you started taking since the first set of murders- and walk inside.

The scent of cheap cologne hits you like a ton of bricks, nearly making you gag at the putrid scent.

"What the fuck," you choke out, dropping your bag on the ground.

The next thing you feel is a needle in your neck, and the sound of the door closing behind you.


	2. Killer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue the torture scene

It's dark. Every sound swimming around your head is muted, like you're underwater. No matter how hard you try to open your eyes, they won't budge. You're held down by the inky blackness of the ocean. 

But then you realize it isn't the weight of the water holding you down.

It's ropes. Around your ankles, around your wrists, around your _throat_. You strain against them but they just gnaw into your skin, unbothered by your struggle. You let out an exasperated sigh, and try to open your eyes again.

They open to a ghoulishly looking white mask, staring down at you. Your heart drops into your stomach as recognition sets in.

It's the mask of the Ghostface.

You're going to be the next victim to the Ghostface.

He tilts his head above you- a curious motion. Maybe as to why you haven't screamed yet? It was indubitably just stuck in your throat, waiting to come out. The shock hasn't worn off yet. 

Your eyes flicker around now, taking in more of what's going on around you. You're tied down to your queen sized bed, the rope goes underneath to where the bed frame was. There's a camcorder propped up on a tripod at the end of the bed, with a small red light blinking at one of it's corners. The Ghostface is still staring at you, silently. He's wearing all leather- it's some sort of cloak with straps across the front. You turn your head to the right side of the bed where he looms over you, straining against the ropes that are around your throat, and see he's holding a kitchen knife at his side. You want to whimper, but you don't let yourself.

No. You won't be scared at all, in fact. Rage flares up inside of you, clouding your vision with red. So instead of screaming or crying, you look right back up at the mask, and with all the energy you can muster-

You spit directly up onto it.

He lets out a sigh. A slow, deep one, reeking of agitation, and steps away from your body. You watch as he wipes his arm across the stark white mask, wiping off your spit, and finally turns back towards you.

"Now don't act like that, baby. The fun hasn't even started" he says. His voice is distorted, cutting in and out like he's on a telephone. You realize it must be some kind of voice modulator built into the mask.

"Go fuck yourself," you snarl, and strain against the ropes one last time with no luck. He chuckles at your fruitless attempts, low and slowly. 

"I didn't know you'd be such a fighter. What, with how bland you come across- how bored you always look at work. Of course, you do look more relaxed when you're home at that computer of yours."

A heavy blush sets into your cheeks, embarrassment flooding you.

"How long have you been watching me you fucking sicko?"

He clicks his tongue- it sounds like pure static interference through the modulator- and twirls his knife absently while answering.

"Oh, you know, long enough," he pauses, and adds with a darker tone, "Enough to get your schedule down, and enough to know there's no one who's going to care about you once you're gone."

You can't stop yourself from swallowing hard at his response. Of course no one would care that you're gone. You have no friends, and no family that actively talks to you. You push anyone away who starts to get too close. How he knows that, though, is beyond you.

"Look at you, finally clamming up on me. Nothing to say to that, huh?"

"Fuck you," you whisper hoarsely.

"What was that, sweet cheeks? I couldn't hear yo-"

"I said FUCK _YOU"_ You scream at the top of your lungs, angry tears now streaming down your cheeks.

"Woah-ho-ho! There we go. That's the kind of reaction I'm looking for!"

He leans forward and pinches your cheek, pulling his hand away quickly as you turn your head to bite it.

He sighs again. This time, it's almost wistful. 

"You're going to look fantastic on camera. But first, so we don't get any unwanted attention…" his voice trails off as he walks over to the counter in the kitchen portion of your studio, to a duffel bag. He rummages around for a few seconds, and pulls out something black.

It isn't until he has it directly in your face that you realize it's a ball gag.

"No, no no NO, don't you fucking da-"

He slaps his hand over your mouth, shoving his gloved fingers in-between your teeth to the back of your tongue. You start to gag, which must be his plan because it stops you from screaming. He quickly pulls his hand back out before you can bite down on it, and forces your jaws open, shoving a ball gag in your mouth. You start rapidly shaking your head side to side, but with a firm hold on your lower jaw he holds you still, pulling the strap over the back of your head, securing it in place. You can hear him humming now, contently, as his eyes trail over the length of your body. 

So you start to fight harder. Being drugged took most of the strength out of your body, but you fought as hard as you can against the ropes holding you down, rocking the bed so it's pounding against the wall. Maybe a neighbor will hear and call the cops. Maybe someone will actually save you from this psychopath.

Said psychopath is still just chuckling lowly as he watches you fight, angry tears pouring harder and harder down your face with every passing second.

And then there's a knife in your shoulder.

Your eyes feel like they're about to pop out of your head by how wide they go, your scream is all but completely muted by the gag. His movements were quick enough that you didn't even see him take the knife back out again, it was just _there_.

And then it wasn't. He rips the blade back out, flicking it carefully so the blood splatter hits your face. 

The next stab was expected. He took his time with choosing the placement of this one, the white mask of the monster above you looking up and down your body. It's a quick, hot searing pain as the knife plunges into your lower stomach area, down to the base of the blade and back out in a second. You're still screaming into the gag, squirming beneath him as you pull against your restraints once more.

The idea of bleeding out crosses your mind, as everything above you starts spinning, your vision darkening a bit. You were going into shock- you knew that. You also accepted that you were going to die soon.

He stabbed that same area again. And again. And again. Each one with a new, wet, sickening crunch as the blade cuts through flesh and muscle. You stop counting after the fifth puncture.

You can't even hear your own muted screams anymore- you don't know why you're even bothering to keep screaming. Maybe it was something you couldn't entirely control, it was just a reflex.

The wetness of tears and snot drip down on your face, mixing with the blood splatter from below. You can feel all of the blood pooling out of you, how everything is getting colder. And you can feel the bile in your stomach coming up but meeting the gag, as you swallow it all back down, choking on some of it.

Finally, the stabs stop, and he moves farther down your body. It felt like he was doing something to your thigh now, but it didn't feel like the stabs from before… It was different, but with the same burning pain of the blade to your skin. You resist the feeble attempt to look at whatever else he is doing to you.

The burning sensation in your leg finally stops, and with that, your will to fight. You can't even move your body anymore. You realize that absolutely no one is coming to help you, and that you are alone, and you are dying to the hands of a psychopath before you ever truly lived.

Your head lolls to the side like a ragdolls, completely without your own will, facing where the ghostface is cleaning up his knife and putting it away in his duffle bag. It seemed that he counted on you to die slowly by bleeding out. He probably thought you were unconscious- maybe even already dead.

Which is probably why he decided to take his mask and cloak off, right in front of you.

Brown, perfect curly locks surrounded a pale face, going down his ears. Strong eyebrows sit above his faded green, sleep deprived eyes. A tight black t-shirt stretches across the muscles in his arms and chest, set with a faded black pair of jeans and black converse. He couldn't be taller than six foot, but was well above your height of 5'5. Recognition hit you slower than it should have.

Maybe because for the very first time, Danny's smile met his eyes.


	3. Survivor

Your therapist had suggested in your last meeting for you to go through and make a list, writing events that have happened in your life. That it will 'help you come to terms with everything if you read it everyday', and 'make the transition easier'. She was all about 'the transition'.

You sigh, but you were okay- you could do this. You could still do a lot of things. 

You take out a notebook and a pen from one of the drawers of your desk, opening it up to a blank page, and you begin to write in your usual chicken scratch.

  1. I was born to a mom who doesn't like to talk to me much, even after the attack. 
  2. My father passed away when I was very young and I do not remember him. I didn't have much family to begin with, not even siblings, so it wasn't that big of a deal. ~~-I guess I'm just used to being alone-~~
  3. I excelled in technology and coding in highschool. I almost went to college for it, but the pressure was too much. I began working at an internet cafe instead.
  4. ~~-I love video games-~~ I loved video games
  5. I _hate_ video games since it's the only thing I can do while recovering.
  6. I was attacked by the ghostface killer on February fifteenth of this year.
  7. I was found bleeding out and barely alive when the cops came due to a noise complaint from other tenants in the apartment complex.
  8. I was in the hospital for over a month. I needed immediate surgery to remove my uterus and ovaries because they couldn't be saved. It took three weeks for me to be able to walk again, and I still have to use crutches.
  9. There are nine stab marks in my body that are currently healing, and a carving with the word 'ghostface' on my thigh. They will scar, and I will have them for the rest of my life.
  10. I have made it my mission to take down the ghostface.



You stare at the words you've written, wanting for them to make sense. Waiting for that 'ah hah!' moment, waiting for the breakthrough you've been needing since you started therapy.

But you feel nothing; and you feel _everything_.

The words do nothing for you, the same way the rest of therapy has done nothing for you. You still have nightmares every single night. You're still paranoid to be alone in your studio apartment, even after moving to a newer, safer, gated complex across the city. You still can hardly move right. You still cry to yourself nearly everyday, and go catatonic for hours on end. You barely eat. You barely _function_ , as a human being.

Maybe you weren't a human being anymore. Maybe you were just a husk.

You no longer needed to work- you were on disability indefinitely. Which left you plenty of time during the day to be alone with yourself, and your thoughts. Or worse, when you _can't_ be alone with yourself and your thoughts, because you need to go out and get your medications or anything else.

When you go out and you risk every second by seeing him, or being followed by him. By risking being recognized by people.

The public had deemed you a hero, locals referring to you as 'miracle girl' and 'the girl who survived'. In your opinion, it made you sound like a shittier _"Harry Potter_ " rip-off. Because there wasn't any magic to this story. No, it wasn't a happy magical movie. It was a horror movie, and you were the zombie.

The main zombie, chasing after the final girl, the girl you _should_ be like. The great survivor everyone thinks you to be.

Not the one that now takes three different medications for depression, anxiety, paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and chronic pain. Not the one that had a panic attack in the middle of the supermarket after finally being released from the hospital, because the fear of _him_ being there was too much, and now has their groceries delivered. And certainly not the one that has now filled up an entire wall in her apartment of photos and articles of the Ghostface.

You swivel in your computer chair, looking at the wall now. It was a mismatched collage, covered in sticky notes and your own scribblings. Each victim had their own spot on the wall, along with their pictures, and anything else you were able to print off from offline. Different colored string connects random photos- piecing those who had things in common together. 

This was the wall that held most of your attention nowadays. You would stare at it for hours, waiting for something to click before giving up and going back on your search online for 'Danny'- if that even was his real name.

You bite your lip and close your eyes, thinking back to the hospital…

_You wished it was silent. The constant beeping of machines and monitors left you on edge. You shift in bed- a very bad decision that curses you the moment you do it. A quick jolt of pain from your shoulder courses through you, and your face cringes up in pain. You relax your head back into the pillows once more, closing your eyes and praying for sleep._

_As soon as footsteps enter the room, you know that sleep will have to wait._

_You open your eyes to two well dressed men, in suits and ties. You knew this was coming- the doctors could only hold off the police for so long before they needed your official statement._

_It had at least given you the right amount of time to decide what to tell them._

_"Hello. My name is Detective Cortez, and this is Detective Matthews," he gestures to his partner as he speaks, "we're from the F.B.I."_

_"How are you doing?" Cortez asks. You grimace._

_"I think you know the answer to that," you reply. He nods his head solemnly._

_"I'm sorry, I know how hard this must be for you- especially us coming in with a bunch of questions. But we need these questions answered. We need to take this killer down." He pulls one of the chairs in the room up to the bed next to you, and sits down. His partner, Matthews, remains silent, hovering above his shoulder. You say nothing._

_"We read over the report that you gave to the nurses from when you woke up, but we still need to clear a few more things up. It says here that you believe you saw his face."_

_You swallow hard. "Yes." You murmur._

_"Did you recognize who it was?"_

_"No." You lie._

_"Could you describe his face for us?"_

_"He was…" you stop for a moment, thinking exactly what details to let slip._

_"He was white. Tall, but not over six foot. He had shorter brown hair." You shrug._

_"That's all I can remember."_

_"Can you think of any identifying details that were on him? Scars, the color of his eyes, tattoos? If we brought a sketch artist in, could you describe him better?"_

_You shake your head. "No. My vision, it was so blurry by that point from the blood loss… " you trail off. Cortez nods._

_"It says here that he left a carving in your leg, may I see it?"_

_You immediately clam up. You had only looked at the carving yourself a couple of times, disgust and hatred filling you each of them. But, shakily, you nod, and pull the blanket that lay on top of you to the side._

_There, stitched up and raw, was the word 'Ghostface' mangled into your thigh. You have to repress a gag when you look at it. Cortez's face remains neutral as he looks at it, thinking to himself._

_"Alright, you can cover it back up."_

_You immediately throw the blanket back over your leg, relief washing through you. Cortez begins to speak again._

_"Do you have any idea why he may have done that?"_

_You grimace. "I've been trying not to think about it." Cortez nods once more, and his partner finally speaks._

_"None of the other victims had his name carved into them- and none of them were able to survive his attack. They were hurt much worse than you were, so we think he intentionally left you alive. What we need to figure it out is why."_

_"I don't know why," you answer, your voice soft and small._

_A strange look crosses the detectives faces. Remorse, possibly? You couldn't tell._

_"I understand. Thank you, this helps more than you probably know." He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a card, handing it to you._

_"Please call us if you remember anything else."_

_And with that, they were gone._

You open your eyes back to the wall of paper. Detective Cortez's card was one of the multiple cards given to you by law enforcement, pinned in the bottom right-hand corner. A day hasn't passed since lying to them that you regret it- because you were going to be the one to take down the ghostface.

Part of you was terrified of him, this was true. But the other part? The other part needed to know why he did it. Why killed those he did, why he wasn't as ruthless when he attacked you, why he did _anything_ he did. You would never tell the police who he was, because you wanted him all to yourself. You needed him now. Your entire life had become wrapped around him.

Your plan to take him down yourself was illegal- you knew that. It was obstructing justice by holding facts back, it protected him. But it didn't stop your yearning to do it. And it certainly didn't slow your research down, because there were certain things you began to piece together that gave you a lead over the police.

The man who ordered black coffees with the name 'Danny', who came in every single day to the internet café had been coming there for three months. The exact same amount of time as when the Ghostface killings started. He didn't need to break into homes, because he had the keys to them- he had stolen your keys a month prior to the attack, you had only _thought_ you lost them. And the man whose name you couldn't remember the day of the attack? He had been a distant regular, showing up only a couple times a week in the mornings during your shift for lattes to-go.

Which means the café was the ghostfaces hunting grounds.

There was also something about him that made you think he was egotistical. He flaunted his kills- never hiding the bodies, always putting them on display in their own homes. So maybe he _wasn't_ lying about where he worked. You figure someone that full of himself would love to write articles about his own kills, day in and day out. To be able to interview the families afterwards, to see the destruction he made firsthand. 

You had looked into every reporter at the Roseville Gazette, and none of them were named Danny. But, you were only able to obtain a picture of a few writers, which meant he could still be one of them and using a different name.

It was a problem you were going to solve today. 

You push back from the desk and turn, grabbing your crutches and slowly stand up. It's an awkward few steps to the door. Keys in hand, you unlock it, and you're on your way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late udate- I visited my family for the holidays! As always your comments are appreciated and what keep me going on this fic


	4. Stalker

It was twilight. The sun's fading rays of sunshine were slowly leeching out of the sky as night took over. You had been sitting outside of the Roseville Gazette for hours in your car with the air conditioner turned up. You watched as people entered and left, going about their daily lives without a care in the world. You idly wonder what they would think if they knew one of their co-workers was possibly a serial killer. You dismiss the thought quickly.

Up to this point, your impromptu stake out had been all eyes on the front doors leading into the Gazette. But now, you were getting distracted with an empty stomach and heavy eyelids. You wish you had eaten something before you left, or at least thought to bring a coffee.

You shake your head. "Worry about that later," you murmur to yourself. You sigh, resting your head against the seat and close your eyes for just a moment.

_His smiling face flashes on the backs of your eyelids, face covered in blood. He's laughing, but politely, like he's in on some kind of joke. Suddenly, he's on top of you, holding you down. You're squirming underneath his large body, crying. His grip bruises your skin. You try to scream but you can't- nothing comes out of your mouth._

_"I've always loved how you look when you're scared- that's why I picked you, you know. That's why I let you live."_

_He pulls out a switchblade from his pocket, flipping it open and holding it against your throat. He trails the knife down from there, across your collarbone to your chest, just between your breasts. He doesn't stab, but the knife is suddenly inside of your chest, puncturing your heart and cracking through your ribcage. You're dying all over again, and there's nothing you can do about it._

You wake up screaming, clutching at your chest for the invisible knife to yank out. Your eyes are wide and frantic as you look around, trying to take in your surroundings.

You were still in your car, but it was nighttime now. You look towards your middle console. The clock reads eight-thirty-two. After taking a deep breath, you rest your head back in the seat again, trying to calm your racing heart.

This dream was new, and it left you feeling weak. Usually, he just skips to the torture and leaves you to die. You've never heard him speak in your dreams before, even if you can never seem to get his voice out of your head. His voice didn't cut in and out through the voice modulator like it had while he has tortured you, it sounded normal, like when he would order something at the café.

A tear slips down your cheek. You sniffle a bit as your heartbeat steadies.

Deep down, a part of you wonders if you just made his face up. That your dying brain saw things that weren't really there. It was a possibility, and one you couldn't ignore. Maybe he only _looked_ like Danny, and to make sense of everything happening to you, your brain connected them together. Maybe you were looking to crucify an innocent man, and letting go of it all would be your best bet to becoming healthy again.

A deep feeling of guilt comes over you, drowning you in it. You had just spent an entire day outside this man's workplace, looking to do what, exactly? Ask him what the fuck his problem was before calling the cops? You were starting to feel like a monster.

But then you see the note on your windshield.

Frantically you reach for the door handle, opening it and stepping out and limping around the car, not wanting to bother with your crutches. The note was pinned down underneath one of your windshield wipers. You pry it out, and under the dingy lit street lamp, begin to read.

_Are you having fun trying to catch me? You gave me quite the surprise, surviving my beautiful work, only to not rat me out to the police. I know you saw my face._

_I know you recognized me._

_So why don't we have a little chat, face to face? I bet you're dying to see me again._

_Meet me at the old bridge outside of town at 3a.m._ _No cops or I won't show._

You swallow hard as your hands begin to shake. You were right, it _was_ him. It was Danny. 

You also couldn't believe what you were reading. Was he serious? Would he actually risk outing himself just to have a conversation with you? Or maybe it wasn't a conversation- was he possibly looking to finish up the job? 

You quickly get back inside your car, ignoring the feeling of being watched. Against your own will, you start to scan the neighboring treeline for any figures lurking in the darkness. Your eyes weren't well adjusted to the dark, but you still couldn't see anything. It didn't stop you from getting chills up your spine, though.

You turn the car back on and make your way back to your apartment, your mind racing the entire time.

This is what you had wanted, isn't it? To be able to ask him all the questions that filled your mind everyday. To weed out his dark secrets, and then turn him over to the police. To be the one who catches the notorious ghostface after almost being one of his ill-fated victims.

You park, turn off the engine and quickly make your way inside your apartment, making sure to glance over your shoulder as you unlock the door. Once inside you quickly close it, going through and locking each of the three locks you had installed. Then you go through your normal check.

You look behind the door. And then under the bed, then behind the bathroom door, the shower curtains, and lastly the closet. After being fully satisfied there was no one else in the apartment, you collapse on to your bed. You wanted nothing more than to sleep the rest of the night away and hide from the ghostface.

But, you know you won't let yourself. Because you need this like you need air. Grasping for straws with your theories was only driving you more insane by the day, and this needed to come to an end. 

So, sitting up in bed, you set an alarm on your phone and wait.

* * *

Despite the time of night, it was still muggy and swelteringly hot outside. You supposed one of the few perks to living in Roseville, Florida, was that you were never going to get cold. Your clammy hands grip at your steering wheel with unnecessary force, your anxiety spiking high. You slowly creep your way up to the old bridge, gravel crunching under your wheels and stop just before it.

No cars could actually pass over the bridge anymore, but the city had yet to take it down, leaving it to slowly rot away in the outskirts of town. It was a safety hazard more than anything else. Local kids had legends about the bridge being haunted by the ghost of a lady in white, but you knew that tonight a very different kind of ghost was haunting the bridge. 

Your entire body was shaking once you finally kill the engine, leaving the headlights on. You should have taken your anxiety medications with you, but you didn't want him to possibly see them. For him to know how much damage he caused. Taking a deep breath, you roll down your window.

"Hello?" You call out.

No one answers.

"This isn't funny. If you don't show yourself, I'm just going to leave!" You threaten. Only a soft wind answers. You huff.

"Fine," you mutter to yourself, and step out of the car, limping to the front and sitting on the hood. You try to keep your cool as you sit, even as paranoia creeps over you from how much you've exposed yourself.

"It's a nice night," a voice murmurs beside you.

You scream without meaning to. He caught you by surprise, moving silently to your side, even in all that leather. The scream is cut off by you slapping your hand over your mouth, as your heart nearly beats out of your chest. You turn to fully look at him now.

He's standing on the other side of the car, giving you a foot of distance between you both. He chuckles. It's clear and undistorted- had he turned off the voice changer, possibly?

You uncover your mouth and take a deep breath, and with as much confidence as you can muster, start to speak.

"Well, I'm here. What did you want to talk about?"

He tilts his head at you, a curious motion, before also sitting down on the hood of the car next to you. You dig your fingernails into your palm to try and calm your shaking.

"You are here. I must say, I'm impressed. I didn't think you would actually come."

"I guess I'm just full of surprises to you then," you retort.

He chuckles again. It's low noise that sends a shiver up your spine. 

"I guess you are," he murmurs. There's something about his tone that leaves you feeling… Embarrassed. You could almost feel his eyes grazing over your body from underneath the black holes in his mask.

You swallow hard, trying to shake off the feeling. You had more important things to get through tonight. You launch into the first question you could think of.

"What connects all of the victims you've picked?"

He tips his head back, looking up at the sky. You take his distraction as an excuse to look at him. There were tassles you hadn't noticed before hanging off his leather cloak. He was wearing knee high combat boots that matched his black ensemble. He sighs.

"This is going to be twenty-one questions, huh? Fine then," he pauses. 

"Absolutely nothing. I make sure to pick the most random people as possible so police don't find a pattern. I thought you would have figured that one out- it was one of the easiest things to guess about my methods."

A hot blush spreads across your face as your eyes go wide from further embarrassment. Now that he says it out loud, it does make sense.

"I… thought about it before, but then decided some as devoted to killing would stick to a type."

He scoffs, looking back down at you. "Because most other serial killers do?"

You nod your head.

"Then think of me as a non-average homicidal maniac. But, if it bothers you so bad, I _could_ change up my MO by going after pretty girls that look just like you," he purrs. You cringe at the threat, deciding to ignore that comment, and launch into the next question.

"When were you able to steal the key to my apartment? I almost always keep it on me."

"When you used the restroom at work. I quickly slipped behind the counter and grabbed them out of your bag."

"Hmm." You murmur, and as you're about to ask the next question, he cuts you off. 

"You get one more. As much as answering the questions of an adoring fan thrills me, I know we have to keep this little meeting short. I don't want anyone coming by and seeing us."

You open your mouth to object but quickly snap it shut, deciding better. You knew instantly which question would be your last.

"Why me?" You whisper.

For a moment, you think he doesn't hear you. He doesn't respond for quite some time. You wish more than ever to be able to read the look on his face, to rip that stupid mask off and make him look you in the eye. But you hold yourself back.

"I picked you… For a few reasons, really. For one, as we discussed, you weren't like any of the others that I've killed, so killing you wouldn't form a pattern. For two, you were easier than others like you. You lived alone, you have no friends, barely any family-"

"-How do you know about my family?" You cut off.

There's a tense moment of silence. Then it happened quickly- quicker than what should be humanly possible- he's on top of you, knocking you to the ground, holding you down by your throat. You choke under his grasp, reaching up and doing your best to hit him in the head as he holds you down. After one good blow to his temple you reach towards his chin, ripping off his mask. 

Pale, lifeless green eyes stare back at you, their pupils dilated. He was grinding his teeth together, brown curls bobbing as you try to thrash him off.

"Don't- _ever-_ cut me off again," he snarls out, finally releasing his grip on your throat.

He is sitting on your thighs as you lay on the ground, gasping and choking for air. After coughing quite a few times, finally it comes back, filling your lungs with sweet relief. You stare up at Danny.

He's panting, a bead of sweat dripping down his face- no doubt from the late night heat- and looking down at you with an intense expression. You look back up at him, your vision spinning a bit from air loss, staring into his eyes.

As much as you hated to admit it, he was kind of beautiful for a serial killer.

Slowly, he climbs off of you, grabbing his mask from where it was discarded on the ground by your hand and pulling it back on. He stands, starting to walk away.

"I think that's enough for tonight." He says, loud enough for you to hear, and continues walking away.

You don't stop him. You don't reply. You just lay on the ground, breathing heavy still, staring up at the twinkling stars and thinking. Eventually, the sun starts to rise, and you slowly get up, limping your way to your car. You don't stop driving until you get home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh boy we're slowly getting there. Thank you to everyone who leaves a comment and kudos, I truly and heavily appreciate it!


	5. Obsession

It had been three weeks since you last saw Danny at the bridge. For each week, there was a new murder. Police were scrambling, the public was on edge. No one felt safe. You couldn't decide which was worse- the fact that the murders escalated since he saw you, or that he followed through on his threat.

Each of the new victims looked exactly like you.

Girls were dyeing their hair different colors, walking in pairs wherever they went now that the ghostface killer was sticking to a type. They were living in fear knowing they could be the next victim.

It made you sick to your stomach every time you watched the news, with a new face popping up that looked far too close to your own. Same hair, same skin tone, same eyes, same body shape. It was eerie how fast he was able to find your look-alikes. You wonder if he had already planned this out.

You had watched enough of  _ "Criminal Minds" _ to know exactly what was going through his head for the threat. Each girl he tortured and killed represented you, and what he wanted to do with you. Each one died because you didn't.

So the guilt was starting to eat you alive.

You spent every day refreshing your local news site on your phone, seeing if anyone new pops up. If some other poor girl was dying in your place, at the hand of your favorite psychopath.

The more time that passed had also made you stronger. You no longer needed crutches to walk, you were just a bit slow on your feet now. It left you with the ability to pace back and forth in your apartment- something you now did quite often.

You stand up and walk over to your printer now, hand extended for the picture it was printing out. You sigh, bringing it over to your wall of murder and pinning her up next to the other latest victims. Bright yellow string connects their photos together, separating them from the rest of the victims with red string. A happy smiling face of a young girl stares you down.

Her name was Melanie. Melanie Watts. She was twenty-three years old, and an aspiring actress. She had a stable job as a teller at a local bank, just a town over. Everyone loved her, and she had no enemies. 

She had been stabbed over forty-seven times in the chest.

You stare at the black and white photo, into her eyes. You notice just how…  _ alive _ they were, how bright and cheerful. After thinking about Danny's dull, dead eyes for weeks now, it almost unsettled you to see her own. You put your face in your hands in shame.

Why couldn't you stop thinking about his fucking eyes?

_ 'Maybe because you like him',  _ the little voice in the back of your head says.  _ 'Maybe because this is the closest you've been with someone for the first time in a long time.'  _ It continues. You nearly growl in frustration.

"No," you mutter to yourself, walking slowly back to your computer chair and sitting down, casting those thoughts out of your mind as quickly as they had come. You may be obsessed with him, but you didn't  _ like  _ him. That was a disgusting thought. How could you like the person that nearly killed you?

Your mind wanders back to the bridge meeting.

It did bother you that Danny hadn't finished what he had been telling you at the bridge, the last reason why he chose you as a victim. You knew it was your fault, you were the one that interrupted him, but you still don't regret asking what you did. How he knew anything about your family was beyond you. It wasn't like you flaunted your life on social media, and neither did your mother. It only showed just how much of a creep he could be. A pout settles on your face as you think.

If you ever met up with him again, you would have to be careful about his temper. He obviously didn't like being talked over. How typical of a serial killer to need to be in control at all times, you think sourly.

Then the doorbell rings.

Confusion sets in immediately. You hadn't ordered anything recently, had you? You glance at the clock on the computer. It reads  _ 8:17p.m. _ You immediately become wary. Who could be ringing your doorbell so late at night?

You almost decide to just not answer. But then you chalk it up to your paranoia. There was no way he had your new address, you had made sure to keep yourself on the down low. So, bravely, you walk over to the door and swing it open.

Arms reach out, pushing you back inside. He steps into your apartment and closes the door with his foot, spinning you around and pushing you up against the nearest wall. Those same arms are now around you suddenly, palms pressed against the wall on each side of your head. You gasp. His face is in front of yours, only inches away. You recognize his eyes before his face.

Those green eyes, the very ones that have been haunting you since you met him, are now finally electric- piercing into your own. You want to speak but the words get caught in your throat, your heart beating out of your chest. You swallow hard, and finally manage to say something.

"What," It comes out like a breath, no sound attached, "what are you doing here?"

"I think you know the answer to that" he murmurs, voice low like a bass.

Your mind goes straight to him murdering you. You shake your head no, a bit too quick.

He notices.

"Hmmm. Fine. Let's pretend you don't know what I'm doing here then". His arms fall to his side, and he takes a step back from you. You notice now he has a knife in his left hand. Your heart skips a beat.

You know you should run. The door was only a few feet away. You should scramble, run out into the street and start screaming. Pound on your neighbors doors and beg them to let you in, to call the police. That's what a normal person would do when face to face with a serial killer- especially one who has tortured you and put you in the hospital, leaving you basically disabled.

But yet… everything in your life has become centered around him. Every waking moment trying to solve who he is, what he wants, what he's going to do next. 

And for some reason, in this exact moment, you weren't scared of him anymore.

So instead, you plop down at the end of your bed, and continue looking towards him. He's staring at the wall covered in victims photographs and your own notes, a slightly amused smile playing at his lips.

"I see you've become a fan of my work."

You purse your lips. That was probably the last word you would use to describe it.

"I wouldn't say I'm a… Fan"

He snorts. "Alright. Obsessive follower, then."

You open your mouth to object, but he continues, lazily spinning his knife around in his hand. A shiver runs up your spine remembering the last time he did that. "Are you trying to figure out who I am? It sure must be driving you crazy to see my face and not knowing. Let me guess- you told them it was Danny, didn't you?"

You shake your head no silently in response. He clicks his tongue. 

He seems a bit taken aback by that, but recovers quickly. "Good. I assume you knew that wouldn't be the name I actually use here and Roseville." You nod your head, silent once more.

You take a deep breath, keeping eye contact with him. Of course he gave you the wrong name. He set everything up perfectly, in his stalker-ish way. It drove you crazy. You had been thinking about his face since it was the first thing you saw, waking up tied down to your bed months ago. The shape of his mouth, his hard jaw line, and of course, his eyes.

That stupid perfect smile was still smeared across his lips.

"You're looking for who I really am, aren't you? Where I came from."

"Yes."

"Are you having much luck with that?"

The answer escapes you before you can stop it. "No."

His face turns smug.

"I didn't think so." He casually strolls over to you on the bed- as if anything about this was casual- and sits down next to you.

"I could just go to the police and have them get a sketch artist, you know. I bet you've been wondering why I didn't before. Your face will be all over the news- I remember exactly what you look like," you say.

"And why would you want to do that?" He asks.

You look at him, incredulously. "Because you're a murderer." You state flatly.

His face is smug again. "So why haven't you yet? You've had the time, the opportunity. I haven't tried to kill you again, since that night. Even when we met up at the bridge, I had the perfect opportunity. I have the opportunity now, but I'm not taking it. And I don't plan to take it, not while there's better victims out there"

You pause. "What do you mean by better vic-"

"You're avoiding my question." He cuts you off, tone serious now.

You swallow hard.

"I didn't think the police would believe a twenty-two year old nobody when she cries wolf again. They won't believe I've talked with you face to face."

He was smiling again. Realization hit you harder than a truck.

"That's why you're so smug, aren't you? You  _ know _ the story is too unbelievable. You're counting on my silence."

He sighs- dramatically, wistfully.

"I love this about you. You're so much smarter than anyone else I've ever had my eye on. Prettier, too." He winks at the end.

You scoff, turning your head back to the corkboard of the dead. Names of victims seem to jump right off the page, staring you back down. Your voice is barely audible when you speak.

"Why did you kill those people."

He's silent for a moment, too.

You wonder if he's making up an excuse. A noble reason to need to kill people. If he would lie and say they were all barely human beings to begin with, that his kills made the world a better place to be in. As if that reason is justifiable enough, and not just a sign of a god complex. You decide whatever the reason, it won't be a good enough one to justify all the dead he has created. 

But then he speaks.

"I don't really… Have a reason," he murmurs. You open your mouth but he quickly shushes you and continues.

"The… the thrill of killing, is unlike anything else in this world. No amount of drugs, or sex, and or any other addictive substance equates to the feeling of the light going out of someone's eyes by your hand."

You nod slowly as he speaks, making sure he knows you understand, that you're following along. His answer though, it only piques your interest more.

"So it's like… A rush."

He lips twitch up into a smirk for a moment before disappearing again into a straight line. He turns, looking into your eyes as he answers.

"Yes, it is."

You can practically hear your own heartbeat from how tense it is. He's closer than he was before- had he shifted without you noticing?- he's just a few inches away.

You can smell him now. You can tell he's wearing top shelf cologne, the kind that they have to lock up in cabinets to keep people from stealing. It fills your nostrils and you breath it back out, your breath caressing his face.

He's leaning in. Your mind races, then goes blank.

And then you're kissing.

You had never kissed anyone before. Boyfriends or girlfriends just weren't an interesting thing to you in school. When you graduated, it stayed the same. You stayed alone, a self imposed exile from relationships or friendships. You would've thought before you wouldn't know what to do, but in the moment now, it felt… Natural, to kiss him.

It's surprisingly soft, the way his lips press and mold against your own. Not to mention desperate- he deepens the kiss as soon as you respond back, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against himself. 

There's a small voice in the back of your head screaming, screaming to push him away in disgust, to stop this. That you shouldn't be doing this. That he's a killer and it doesn't matter if he's the only one that pays attention to you, that he's the only one you've ever let in, that he's hurt you and will definitely do it again.

You shove the voice back down as his tongue slips into your mouth, exploring across your own tongue and teeth. A moan gets caught in the back of your throat as he wraps his arms around you, his hands sliding down your sides and settling in your waist as you continue to kiss. Then he finally pulls away, his face smug yet again.

"Are you sure you're not obsessed with me?"

You stare at him, nearly out of breath, thinking about what witty response to say back. What words will penetrate that façade he has, what actions will make it clear to him that what's happening between you both shouldn't be happening at all.

And then you make the worst decision of your life.

You throw yourself back at Danny, devouring his lips once more while pulling at his shirt. He gets the message quickly, breaking away from the kiss for only a short moment to pull off his shirt, and then your own, tearing your bra off after. Then you're kissing again, rushed, hastily, as his hands roam your body and find their place on your breasts. He squeezes them, his fingers brushing against your nipples as he fondles you. He pulls away from the kiss for a second time, eyeing you down.

"You are just… So, so fucking beautiful," he growls out, his eyes hungry as he takes you completely in. Your face heats up in response, a large blush covering your cheeks as he leans his head down and begins to suck on your left nipple. You groan, running your fingers through his hair as he begins to use his teeth gently on you.

"Fuck, Danny…" you moan.

Suddenly, he's pushing you off of his lap, and onto your back on the bed. You stare up at his face as he hovers over your half naked body, both of his hands on either side of your head.

"I've been enamored with you since I first laid my eyes on you. Do you know that?"

He asks while staring you down.

You don't have a chance to respond before he starts speaking again.

"I followed you, stalked you- fuck, I even gave you my real name at the café just so I could hear you say it when you called out my order. Everything about you draws me in. Your face, your voice, the way you're a loner, just like me."

You suck in a deep breath, listening intently. You should have been more aware of what was going on around you. You should've known he was stalking you, and you should feel disgusted by it.

But knowing how deeply he's obsessed over you just makes you want him even more.

"Danny," you whimper. He smiles in response.

"Yes baby girl?"

You try to ignore the feeling that coursed through you when he used the nickname.

"We- we really shouldn't even be doing this-  _ I  _ shouldn't be doing this-"

His smirk was nearly evil. He leans down closer to your face, whispering in your ear.

"It's called a hate fuck baby, of course we shouldn't. Doesn't mean it won't feel great."

Your blush deepens in response. You gulp.

"But-"

"But nothing." His voice is stern now as he pulls back to look at you, eyes harsh. You recognize it for what it is, his anger, coming out and rearing its ugly head. 

You decide not to argue with him, after the vague feeling that denying him may result in you getting gutted again. You sigh, nodding your head slightly as a silent 'ok'.

A wide grin spreads across Danny's face. "Good girl, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"N-no, it wasn't…" you reply.

Then he reaches for his knife. Your heart drops into your stomach, pure fear setting in. "No-" You start to protest.

Then he cuts open your pants from the hem to your crotch, skillfully angling the knife so as not to cut you. You watch silence as he then finishes ripping them off of you, the wide grin staying put. 

"You have to trust me for this to work, you know." You press your lips in a straight line, before nodding curtly once. 

"Okay," you let out. He pushes your legs up and spreads them, leaving you exposed in just your panties. You can tell there's a wet spot forming on them. 

"Already wet for me? You're such a fucking slut. I bet you've already been touching yourself to the thought of me…" he purrs, before carefully running his fingers across your thighs.

You make a strangled noise, something in between a whimper and a muted moan, but stop once he gets to your scars. He sighs, content.

"It felt so good to carve my name into you, all those months ago. It looked perfect then, while it was still bleeding, and looks perfect on you now, all healed up. A part of you forever."

Your next words get caught in your throat for a moment, before you force yourself to spit them out. 

"I hate it."

He cocks his eyebrow, looking at you like a parent who knows their child is lying.

"Oh do you? Well, maybe we can change that…" he trails off, before bending his head down and placing a few delicate kisses on the inside of your right thigh. You sigh at the softness of them, surprised at how delicate he's being.

Then he roughly sinks his teeth into you, and you let out a yelp. He chuckles, but continues on, biting from the inside of the base on your thigh all the way up to your knee, leaving marks as he moves along. 

Then he ducks his head under your raised leg and starts to lick up the scar on the outside of your thigh.

You can feel the heat in your lower stomach growing, the patch in your panties getting bigger. You wanted to feel his warm, wet tongue somewhere else.

"Please," you pant, exasperated, "stop teasing."

He raises his head, looking up at you. 

"I don't think you're in a position to make that call. But if the whore really needs it that bad..." he pauses to move his head back between your legs and rip your panties off of you, "then I'm sure I can provide."

Then his mouth is on your cunt. You let out a soft moan as his tongue moves from your opening up to your clit, then quickly moves back down, prodding your entrance.

You reach down, running your fingers through his brown, lightly curled hair, as he moves back up and begins sucking on your clit.

You tip your head back, letting out another loud groan as he continues to suck, the intensity of it forcing you to build up fast. He shoves one finger into your slick hole, then quickly slips in another, scissoring them and forcing you open more.

You can feel the sweat dripping down your thighs already, mixing with his spit into the crevices of his bite marks. He finally gives your clit a break, moving his mouth away from it and focusing more on fingering you senseless. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, building up speed before inserting a third. You bite your tongue to keep from yelling out.

"You like being filled up like this? You must have experience if you're opening up to me this quickly."

You don't reply, opting to cover your reddened face with your hands out of embarrassment. But then he pulls his fingers out to the very tips and slams them back in, hitting your cervix.

"Answer me. Do you have experience, or am I the first one to open you up like this."

You take your hands off your face.

"You're the f-first one Danny, I promise!"

"Oooh, you promise, hmm?"

He pulls his fingers out and roughly slams them back in again.

"Yes!" You squeak. He seems satisfied with your answer, finally pulling his soaked fingers back out of you. He gets off the bed, and starts unbuckling his belt and pulling off his jeans, then his boxers. His erection springs free, bobbing as he pulls his underwear off. You gulp when you notice his length- he couldn't be less than at least eight inches. He smirks when he sees you staring, before crawling back up onto the bed, his belt still in hand.

"Put your hands above your head, now." He commands. You eagerly comply, wanting nothing more than his cock to finally fill you up. The tips of your knuckles rest against the headboard as Danny loops his belt around your wrists and pulls it tight, keeping them in place.

"Your hands will stay above your head at all times, am I clear?"

"Yes daddy," you breathe out. He chuckles. 

"Mmm I like that. Say it again," he replies, quickly reaching forward and wrapping his hand around your throat, crushing it under his grasp. 

"Y-Yes da-daddy," you choke out, and he releases, letting air fill your lungs once more.

"Good girl," he murmurs, almost dazed as he looks down at you.

You meet his eyes before looking down at his cock again, which is dripping with precum. The head is swollen, and the perfect shade of pink. You nearly drool.

He shuffles down now, hand on his flushed cock, pumping it a little bit as he bites back a groan. You spread your legs even farther apart for him as he rests his hand on your hip, using the other to line himself up with your hole. His grips your hip hard enough to leave bruises.

"Ready?" He asks. You nod quickly, anxiously.

He pushes inside of you, slowly filling you up until you're deeply seated at the base. You breathe out, flustered, amazed that you were even able to fit it all inside.

Then he quickly pulls out and slams back in, making you see stars.

"Danny!" You scream out as he moans, then picks up a steady pace fucking you. One hand was keeping him propped up, while the other moved across your body, feeling every sweaty inch of you. Your breasts jiggle with each pound, catching his attention as he proceeds to lean down and suck on one of your nipples, the taste of your salty skin filling his mouth.

You let out a mixture of sighs and groans, between little whimpers of begging him to go faster. He complies, picking up the pace and roughness, slamming in and out of you.

He takes his mouth off your breast and in return, places his free hand on your throat once more. He pressed down, gently, feeling the rabbiting pace of your pulse under his hand. Then he squeezes just enough to cut off your air flow with one precise pound against your cervix.

Your eyes roll back into your head as you moan his name again, your orgasm starting to build back up, and quickly. He takes his hand off your throat after a few more seconds, allowing you to gasp for air, forcing you to almost be there and then-

You're screaming his name as you squeeze around cock, cumming hard against it. Your orgasm rips through you, sending wave after wave of pleasure through you.

That seems to tip him over the edge, his pounds become more shaky, jerking awkwardly as he himself builds up. He's panting above you, sweat dripping down his perfect pecs and onto his abs before falling on to you. 

You want so badly to reach up and run your hands across his body, but your tied hands stay put above your head obediently.

You can hear him coming undone, each frantic noise he makes becoming gibberish until finally-

"Fuck- I'm gonna-"

He pulls out, his hand on his member immediately, sliding up and down until hot cum sprays out all over your stomach and up to your tits. 

He breathes heavily, hand leaving his softening cock as his cum cools on your skin, untying the belt above your head and tossing it off the bed before collapsing next to you.

You both lay there like that, breathing heavy and dazed, for what feels like an eternity.

Then the self hatred starts to sink in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed us finally getting to the sex scene- I know I did. From here on out it's gonna be smut city. Thank you to my best friend and partner for beta reading this for me. Also, I'm bloodhexx on tumblr if you wanna hmu


	6. Chapter 6

You stare up at the ceiling, losing yourself to the overwhelming feeling of self hatred, as well as disbelief.

You just willingly had sex with a murderer.  _ You just willingly had sex with a murderer. _

Your breath hitches, now coming out panicked and unevenly. Could you have just made the worst decision of your life? You spare a glance over to your side.

Danny's eyes were closed as he lay next to you, a peaceful look encompassing his face. You stare back up at the ceiling.

_ No, _ you think to yourself. It's definitely on a list of growing bad decisions, but not the worst one yet. You briefly wonder exactly  _ which _ bad decision started the avalanche of poor judgement. Was it lying to the police about not recognizing Danny? Was it trying to take him down yourself?

You cringe internally trying to decide.

You look back at Danny, briefly wondering if he's already asleep, but then his eyes slowly open, head tilting to face you. A soft smile grows on his face.

"I've been waiting for this for so long," he whispers, eyes full of love and adoration. Your heart skips a beat as you temporarily forget your woes.

"But I'm… Nothing special," you whisper back, as if speaking louder would ruin the trance his eyes held you in. His soft smile grows. 

"You're very special, at least to me. Anyone who says otherwise will be on the other side of my knife."

You're left speechless for a moment, until an abrupt bout of giggles releases from your lips. 

"Yeah?" You murmur between chuckles.

"Yeah." He replies wistfully.

You make a thoughtful humming noise. 

"Move to your side, please." 

Danny immediately starts rolling over to his side facing you, and you scooch over on the bed, turning so your back presses against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, immediately turning you into the little spoon. You stay quiet for a few minutes, before the next question eating you up inside finally escapes from your lips.

"Does this make me a bad person now? Sleeping with a murderer?"

Danny hums back in response. 

"That depends on your definition of bad, I think. You yourself haven't committed any murders."

"Yes, but…  _ I _ know that  _ you  _ have, and I still willingly did it. I ignored the better judgement in this situation."

"The better judgement to you is the worst judgement to me, though. It's all a matter of perspective."

You sigh. "This is getting too philosophical for my taste."

"Then just ignore it, and leave it as it is. What's done is done."

There's a heaviness lingering in the air before you ask the next question.

"What… Are we, exactly?"

You can hear the smile in Danny's voice as he replies.

"Other than two people who are obsessed with one another? Mmm. I wouldn't mind being boyfriend and girlfriend, if you don't mind."

"Boyfriend and girlfriend…" you mutter, trying not to enjoy the way it feels on your tongue, while also not trying to panic at the thought of commitment. He senses your uneasiness.

"We also don't have to put a label on it, if it makes you that uncomfortable. So long as you know you're mine," he says, his soft, endearing smile turning into a smug smirk.

It takes you a minute to respond. "Maybe," you murmur, then reach back to take his arm, pulling and wrapping him around you.

"I've… never been held like this before, at least not since I was a child," you pause. "Have you? Held anyone like this before, I mean."

"No, I haven't ever held anyone like this. This is a first for me." He breathes.

"I'm happy to be your first, then," you say, your face immediately heating up, a blush covering your face and the tips of your ears. It's quiet for a few more moments, you enjoy the silence before speaking.

"I could fall asleep like this," you say softly.

"I could too," he whispers, his breath grazing your ear.

You shudder lightly at the feeling, then gradually start to relax in his strong arms, feeling the gentle pull of sleep tugging at you, before finally slipping under.

You don't have any nightmares that night, for the first time in a very long time.

* * *

You wake up slowly, grogginess overcoming and dulling your senses. The first thing you notice is the morning sun's rays peeking out from the edges of your black out curtains. You palm around your bed, looking for your phone. Finally you find it on your night stand, and press the power button to read the time.

Danny's face stares back at you. You drop your phone in shock, then scramble to pick it back up off the floor, unlocking it again. You stare at the photo in disbelief.

It was you, asleep in Danny's arms, with his face right above your own as the lockscreen. You groan, dramatically. You were starting to regret not having a passcode for it.

Slowly, last night creeps back into your mind, and you sit up straighter in bed, before looking around your studio apartment for Danny.

He was nowhere to be found.

A bit of sadness tugs at your heart, but you swallow the feeling down. It was fine. You were fine. You didn't need him to stay in the mornings, you could handle yourself just fine. You get up in search of coffee, walking over to the kitchenette portion of your apartment. 

A green note stuck to the top of the coffeemaker calls your attention. You walk a bit faster now, ripping the note off and reading it quickly.

_ "Sorry to leave so early, I had to go to work. Text me ♡ - Danny" _

His number was attached directly underneath the writing. You shove the note in your pocket, smiling as you do so.

Of course, he had work, and you were an idiot who completely forgot it was the middle of the week. Unable to wipe the smile off your face, you get to work starting your breakfast. 

As soon as you were done cooking, you sit down in your bed and turn on your TV. It was on the last channel you had running, which was of course the news. You mindlessly chew your food while listening to the news person.

" _ -we're hoping for a great turnout for this year's annual bake sale and charity fundraiser. Back to you, Amy. _

_ Thanks, Roger. In other news, a body was found this morning by joggers outside a nearby marsh. The identity of the body is being linked to a local missing persons case from last month. When asked for a comment on whether this was the work of the Ghostface killer, officers surrounding the discovery denied any comment. However, here with us on the scene is local journalist Jed Olsen for the Roseville Gazette, making his own comment on this brutal killing." _

You lean in unconsciously, before nearly spitting your food back out. Danny's face pops up on the screen, glasses fitting his face with his normally messy hair combed back. A cardigan sweater hides the muscles in his arms, and his eyes look just as dull as they do in real life, though, you suppose there's no way he could ever hide that. You reach for the remote, turning up the TV.

" _ So, Jed. You are the lead article writer for the Ghostface killer. Do you think this is his work?"  _ the reporter asks.

_ "No, I don't,"  _ Danny replies, shaking his head somberly _. "From what I heard this is a fresh kill, which means she was in captivity for almost a month. The Ghostface has never kidnapped anyone before, and it doesn't fit his MO. Plus, he's never disposed of bodies out in the open. He always leaves them in their homes after somehow breaking in." _

_ "Well put. Do you have any additional comments you would like to make?" _

Danny makes a thoughtful face for a moment, resting his hand on his chin.

" _ I suppose the only thing left to say is I hope our heroes in blue bring this killer to justice." _

The screen flashes back to the other reporter, already rambling about some new news story that you were already too far gone to process.

_ Heroes in blue? _ You think he may have been laying it on a little thick there. But how would they know? Danny looked so timid in his interview, he definitely pulled off the gentle façade he was trying to portray. Nothing was amiss on his face. 

You unlock your phone, and take the sticky note out of your pocket, quickly punching in Danny's number.

You pause for a moment, deliberating on what to say. You probably shouldn't outright text him why he wants to be on TV if he's the killer, in case someone sees. You try to word your text as vaguely as possible.

**8:31**

_ Hey, I saw you on the news. I'm surprised you didn't panic at the idea of being on camera. _

**Danny - 8:33**

_ I've never minded a camera, you should know that ;) Inserting myself into the investigation is the quickest way to get new stories for the paper, anyways. _

**8:33**

_ That makes… Sense, actually. When did you even leave, btw? I didn't hear you get up. _

**Danny - 8:34**

_ Around 5:30. I had to go back to my place to get a fresh pair of clothes before work.  _

**Danny - 8:34**

_ Actually, are you doing anything tonight? Maybe we could go out and have some dinner? _

You stare at the text like the phone had somehow become an alien device in your grasp. Could he really be serious? Would he want to risk going out with you, a known survivor of his attempted killing? You imagine how it would look to the public eye. 

You suppose they would make sense of it, the bond of the Ghostface bringing you two together. He could say he met you when he contacted you for a piece, and things blossomed from there. But…  _ Do _ you want things to blossom? 

You bite your lip nervously. You had been putting this off for long enough now. You knew it was morally wrong to be with him on any level. He viewed you as something he owns, more than an equal partner, based on the way he adores his signature scribed into your leg- or the way he invades your privacy by going into your phone. You were someone he staked some wolfish, serial killer claim on. Not to mention he had a violent temper, always at an arm's length away and willing to snap. But yet…

You remember how it felt kissing him. Seeing those dead, flat green eyes spark with life into something electric. How it felt when you fucked, how sweet he was to you afterwards. How he gazed at you like you were everything to him, despite only knowing you for such a short period of time.

You could rationalize that what he may be experiencing wasn't love- maybe he couldn't feel true love, since most psychopaths couldn't. But you could. And for some reason, your heart beat in tandem with his own. He became the focal point of your life these last few months, like he had somehow ingrained himself into you with his knife.

You lean back against your headboard and let out a sigh. You were becoming a different kind of fucked up. 

_ It doesn't matter though, as long as you're happy _ , the little voice in the back of your head says. 

"But how do I excuse him from killing innocent people?" You ask it out loud.

Your psyche doesn't have an answer for that one.

So you run your fingers through your hair, frustration clouding your mind. You were absolutely letting your feelings for Danny cloud your judgement, but was the little voice right?  _ Did  _ it really matter, so long as you were happy? Could you blissfully ignore what he does for the sake of a relationship?

Letting out a weary sigh, you know you have your answer. You pick up your phone again, quickly texting back your response.

**8:37**

_ Sure. Pick me up at my place when you get out of work? _

**Danny - 8:37**

_ Sounds like a plan. <3 _

You set down your phone, a mix of jitteriness and uneasiness mixing in your stomach. You do your best to keep the feelings down.

You keep yourself busy the rest of the day. Laundry, dishes, and cooking yourself lunch was enough to keep you preoccupied. You didn't want to be alone with your thoughts, for fear of which path it would lead you down. You just enjoyed the thought of a seemingly average day that will lead up to a seemingly average night with a seemingly average guy. Not one who knew who to gut a person. Not one who had an entire ensemble for killing. Not one who-

You stop folding your laundry, staring out the open window instead. You internally kick yourself. No. You will not go down that road.

Instead, your stare at the sun's final rays were fading in the sky, giving room to shades of purple and blue. The moon was already out, a crescent waxing overhead. You smile at the scenery. Twilight was always your favorite part of the day, where the brightness gave way to darkness, and stars filled the sky. You had always found it natural to be up during the night, spending it playing video games alone. You turn toward your computer, a frown set on your face.

It had been too long since you played anything. You had been so caught up with finding out who Danny really was…

You realize that tonight those answers may just be answered for you by the man himself. A wave of excitement overcomes you, ready to be done with the mysteries.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you finish folding up the last of your clothes.

**Danny - 5:16**

_ I'm outside. You ready? _

You bite your lip, grabbing your purse from the countertop and swinging open your apartment door, quickly walking towards the car waiting outside. You slide into his small silver sedan, surprised at just how clean it is on the inside. It was like he just drove it out of a dealership.

He notices you looking around.

"I'm um… A bit of a neat freak, I guess," he mumbles fast. You smile timidly. 

"That's okay. Better than being a slob."

He chuckles at that, but you notice it's strained. He drives in silence for a few minutes, before turning the music on.

"It's a nice place I wanna take you to, but it's a couple towns over. You don't mind the drive, right?"

You shake your head while answering. 

"Not at all."

Then you recognize the music that's playing with a little gasp.

"Clair de lune?"

"You know Debussy?" He asks, a little shocked himself. He steals you a sideways glance for a moment before stealing his eyes back on the road. A soft blush spreads across your cheeks.

"Only my favorites. My mother used to play this around the house."

"It's one of my favorites too," he murmurs, almost too soft to hear. "I was starting to think we didn't have anything in common." 

You lightly laugh at that.

"What's funny?" He asks.

"I guess it's just a little funny to me that you're looking for similarities. I've never been like anyone I've ever met…" you trail off for a moment, watching the storefronts go by as you pass them on the main street. "I've always felt rather disconnected, in that way."

You have to stop yourself from saying  _ until I met you _ .

He makes a tsking noise. "I've always felt the same way. Disconnected, I mean. The only thing I've ever done that made me feel myself, was-" he stops himself for a moment.

"Well, you probably know. I'm sure you don't want to talk about it."

"Not really," you whisper. You bite down on your lip at the tense silence that follows.

"New topic," Danny says abruptly. "I know enough about you to know your dad is out of the picture, and you don't speak with your mom much. But I don't know why exactly."

You let out a little snort of laughter.

"Your best guess is mine. We've never been close, even from a young age. It plays into the disconnected thing, I guess. My own mother who is supposed to be my closest confidant in the world just… Doesn't really care for me. It doesn't go much beyond that." You finish with a shrug. Danny makes a thoughtful humming noise at that.

"Could it be she was more focused on her work?" He offers. You take a moment to think about it.

"I don't… think so. I mean, she's a defense attorney, so yeah she's pretty wrapped up with work. But it doesn't consume her life, she has plenty of hobbies outside of work. I guess she was just never the motherly type. I can't even remember the last time we spoke."

Danny makes another thoughtful humming noise, this one a bit more pronounced. "So, do you think she would care much of who you decided to date? No matter what type of guy that may be?"

You clam up immediately, your entire face going red before you look out the side window again to hide it.

"I- I guess. Yeah. I mean," you awkwardly chuckle, "She's the type of person to turn off her own morals to defend some really bad people for work, I'm sure she doesn't care who I end up with."

You come to a red light. Danny's head turns to you, and you do your best not to make eye contact with him while looking out the window. But his gaze is heavy, you can feel it lingering on the side of your face.

"Do you think anyone else here is turning off their morals for the sake of others?"

You gulp. The light turns green, but Danny doesn't move the car forward- you realize he's still waiting for an answer.

"The light is green now," you mumble. He sighs, ignoring the beeping behind him and turns back to face the road, driving forward once more. You sigh in relief.

You can feel the gnawing of self hatred in your stomach once more, and you do your best to swallow it down as Danny pulls up to the restaurant.

You  _ won _ ' _ t  _ let it ruin this night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, otherwise known as "how many things can bloodhexx directly rip off from twilight because it's her favorite book series", is so far my favorite chapter. Forcing the reader to rationalize whether her obsession with a serial killer is okay, especially when said serial killer demands their attention back. Danny is an angry, over compulsive, super controlling jerk and he's getting love he totally doesn't deserve. Also as always your comments and feedback are what keep me going on this piece, srsly every time I see a notification in my inbox it just immediately fuels me to work on this. I love you all and I hope you're enjoying this journey <3


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